As I
did research on our family genealogy I came across the story of Barbara Culp McKinney, my
4th Great Aunt. This is her true story as written in the book “Women of the American Revolution”
by Elizabeth F. Ellet.

The little settlement of white
settlers had spread over the rich lands on Fishing and Rocky Creeks, the
dwellings being gathered into clusters, of which there were some three or
four within a short distance of each other. Not a great way from
Steel’s and Taylor’s Forts was another settlement consisting of a few
families, among which were those of William McKenny (sic) and his brother James.
These lived near Fishing Creek. In the summer of 1761, sixteen
Indians, with some squaws of the Cherokee tribe, took up their abode for
several weeks near what is called Simpson’s Shoals, for the purpose of
hunting and fishing during the hot months. In August, the two McKennys
being absent on a journey to Camden, William’s wife, Barbara, was left alone
with several young children. One day she saw the Indian women running
towards her house in great haste, followed by the men. She had no time
to offer resistance; the squaws seized her and the children, pulled them
into the house, and shoved them behind the door, where they immediately
placed themselves on guard, pushing back the Indians as fast as they tried
to force their way in, and uttering the most fearful outcries. Mrs.
McKenny concluded it was their intention to kill her, and expected her fate
every moment. The assistance rendered by the squaws, whether given out
of compassion for a lonely mother, or in return for kindness shown them,
--proved effectual for her protection till the arrival of one of the chiefs,
who drew his long knife and drove off the savages. The mother,
apprehending another attack, went to some of her neighbors and entreated
them to come and stay with her. Robert Brown and Joanna his wife,
Sarah Ferguson, her daughter Sarah and two sons, and a young man named
Michael Melbury, came in compliance with her request, and took up their
quarters in the house. The next morning Mrs. McKenny ventured out
alone to milk her cows. It had been her practice heretofore to take
some of the children with her, and she could not explain why she went alone
this time, though she was not free from apprehension, it seemed to be so by
a special ordering of Providence. While she was milking, the Indians
crept towards her on their hands and knees; she heard not their approach,
nor knew anything till they seized her. Sensible at once of all the
horror of her situation, she made no effort to escape, but promised to go
quietly with them. They then set off towards the house, holding her
fast by the arm. She had the presence of mind to walk as far off as
possible from the Indian who held her, expecting Melbury to fire as they
approached her dwelling. As they came up, he fired, wounding the one
who held Mrs. McKenny; she broke from his hold and ran, and another Indian
pursued and seized her. At this moment she was just at her own door,
which John Ferguson imprudently opening that she might enter, the Indians
shot him dead as he presented himself. His mother ran to him and
received another shot in her thigh, of which she died in a few days.
Melbury, who saw that all their lives depended on prompt action, dragged
them from the door, fastened it, and repairing to the loft, prepared for a
vigorous defense. There were in all, five guns. Sarah Ferguson loaded
for him while he kept up a continual fire, aiming at the Indians wherever
one could be seen.

Determined to effect their object of
forcing an entrance, some of the savages came very near the house, keeping
under cover of an outhouse in which Brown and his wife had taken refuge, not
being able on the alarm, to get into the house. They had crept into a
corner and were crouched there close to the boarding. One of the
Indians, coming up, leaned against the outside, separated from them only by
a few boards, the crevices between which probably enabled them to see him.
Mrs. Brown proposed to take a sword that lie by them and run the savage
through the body, but her husband refused; he expected death, he said, every
moment, and did not wish to go out of the world having his hands crimsoned
with the blood of any fellow creature. “Let me die in peace”, were his
words, “with all the world”. Joanna, though in the same peril, could
not respond to the charitable feeling. “If I am to die”, she said, “I
should like first to send some of the redskins on their journey. But
we are not so sure we have to die don’t you hear the crack of Melbury’s
rifle? He holds the house. I warrant you, that redskin looked
awfully scared as he leaned against the corner here. We could have
done it in a moment.”

Mrs. McKenny, meanwhile, having
failed to get into her house, had been again seized by the Indians, and
desperately regardless of here own safety, was doing all in her power to
help her besieged friends. She would knock the priming out of the guns
carried by the savages, and when they presented them to fire would throw
them up, so that the discharge might prove harmless. She was often
heard to say, afterwards, that all fear had left her, and she thought only
of those within the building, for she expected for herself neither
deliverance nor mercy. Melbury continued to fire whenever one of the
enemy appeared; they kept themselves, however, concealed, for the most part,
behind trees or the outhouse. Several were wounded by his cool and
well-directed shots, and at length, tired of the contest, the Indians
retreated, carrying Mrs. McKenny with them. She now resisted with all
her strength, preferring instant death to the more terrible fate of a
captive in the hands of the fierce Cherokees. Her refusal to go
forward irritated her captors, and when they had dragged her about half a
mile, near a rock upon the plantation now occupied by John Culp, she
received a second blow with the tomahawk which stretched her insensible upon
the ground. When after some time consciousness returned, she found
herself lying upon the rock, to which she had been dragged from the spot
where she fell. She was stripped naked, and her scalp had been taken
off. By degrees the knowledge of her condition, and the desire of
obtaining help came upon her. She lifted up her head, and looking
around, saw the wretches who had so cruelly mangled her, pulling ears of
corn from a field near, to roast for their meal. She laid her head
quickly down again, well knowing that if they saw her alive, they would not
be slack in coming for finish the work of death. Thus she lay
motionless till all was silent, and she found they were gone; then with
great pain and difficulty she dragged herself back to the house. It
may be imagined with what feelings the unfortunate woman was received by her
friends and children, and how she met the bereaved mother wounded unto
death, who had suffered for her attempt to save others. One of the
blows received by Mrs. McKenny had made a deep wound in her back; the others
were upon her head. When her wounds had been dressed as well as was
practicable, Melbury and the others assisted her to a bed. Brown and
his brave wife having then joined the little garrison, preparations were
made for defense in case of another attack’ the guns were all loaded and
placed ready for use, and committing the house to the care of the Browns,
Melbury sallied forth, rifle in hand, and took to the woods. He made
his way directly, and as quickly as possible, to Taylor’s Fort at Landsford.
The men there, informed of what had happened, immediately set about
preparations for pursuing the treacherous Indians who had thus violated the
implied good faith of neighbors by assailing an unprotected woman. The
next morning a number of the, well armed, started for the Indian encampment
at the shoals. The Cherokees were gone; but the indignant pursuers
took up the trail, which they followed as far as Broad River. Here
they saw the Indians on the other side, but did not judge it expedient to
pursue them further, or provoke an encounter.

In the meantime William McKenny had reason for uneasiness in his absence
from home; for he knew that the Indians had been at the shoals some time,
nor was the deceitful and cruel character of the tribe unknown to him.
He was accustomed long afterwards to tell of the warning conveyed to him
while on his road to Camden; two nights in succession he dreamed of losing
his hat, and looking upon this as an omen of evil, became so uncomfortable
that he could proceed no further. Taking one of the horses out of the
wagon, he mounted and rode homeward at his utmost speed. Reaching his
own house a little after dark, he was admitted by the women as soon as he
made himself known. The scene that greeted his eyes was one truly
heart-rending; the slain man, John Ferguson, still lay there, and in the
same apartment the dying mother and Mrs. McKenny, more like one dead than
living, mangled almost past recognition- the blood still gushing from her
wounds, and drenching the pillows on which she lay. No fictitious
tragedy could surpass the horrors of this in real life.

Days later a group of men from the area trailed the Indians within miles of
the Cherokee Nation. One of the men, Thomas Garett, killed the Indian that
scalped Mrs. McKinney and actually found her scalp in the Indian’s shot bag.

The wounds in Mrs. McKenny’s head never healed entirely; but continued to
break out occasionally, so that the blood flowing from them stained the bed
at night, and sometimes fragments of bone came off; nevertheless, she lived
many years afterwards and bore several children. She was at the time
with child, and in about three months gave birth to a daughter-Hannah,
afterwards married to John Stedman- living in Tennessee in 1827. This
child was plainly marked with a tomahawk and drops of blood, as if running
down the side of her face. The families of McKenny and McFadden
residing on Fishing Creek, are descended from this Barbara McKenny; but most
of her descendants have emigrated to the West. The above-mentioned
occurrence is narrated in a manuscript in the hand-writing of her grandson,
Robert McFadden.

Several years
later, Barbara would be faced with an equal threat in her life that would
test her strength and devotion for her family. For in the near future, the
clouds of war would open and pour out eight years of hell. Once she
committed to that war of independence, to retreat was unacceptable, no
matter how imposing the task ahead. The mounting investment in her blood,
sweat, and tears influenced a final, decisive resolution of the great
question of the American independence. Thanks to Barbara Culp McKenny, and
others like her, an independent nation was born…